The Chiropractor: Part One

Mia Malkova's neck tweaks on site. She whistles. Hard. Some chick struts past the rebar and scaffolding. Her coworker scribbles Angela White's name on the back of a job card. Mia books the appointment. She steps into the exam room, jaw hitched wide open. Angela's blouse is cut damn near her navel. Breasts—huge—pillow over the neckline, nipples faint behind thin white fabric. The Australian doctor talks through the consent form, voice low and even. Her pen taps the page where intimacy meets treatment. She spells it out straight: close contact is medical, nothing more. Mia signs fast. Angela's hands start at the neck, then slip lower. She checks for weakness, runs fingertips over flex points, tracks every flinch. Mia stays quiet, lets the doctor do whatever she has to. Pressure hunts through hips, lands on glutes. Angela digs in, heels of her palms, slow deliberate circles until knots give. Mia's breath shortens. The doctor moves higher. Fingers glide under the ribs, settle around the curve of Mia's tits. She massages—deep, careful—then uses her own chest to show the motion Mia can repeat at home. Shirt buttons pop open. A bra follows. Angela lifts the heavy tits free and Mia's eyes go big, glued on the pale skin, the wide dark nipples. Heat rolls off Angela's body. Mia reaches, can't stop herself. She lingers, palms full, thumbs brushing. Angela freezes. One arched brow. "Intentions," she says, "not exactly clinical." But her voice dips, husky, when she admits Mia's the exception—the pretty blonde gets her soaked. She yanks Mia's tank down, latches onto a nipple, sucks hard. Tongue flicks, teeth graze. Mia moans; the doctor answers with a filthy French kiss, teeth clashing, spit slick. Tops, bras, work pants—everything hits the floor. Angela shoves Mia onto the table, spreads her, dives tongue-first between soaked folds. Fingers pump fast, wrist snapping, every thrust wetter than the last. Mia bucks. When she comes, it's loud, shaking, thighs clamped tight around Angela's head. Roles flip. Mia drops to her knees, works her mouth up Angela's slit, tracing every ridge till the chiropractor quivers. Then Mia spins, ass to Angela's face. Tongue works her hole, thumb drills her cunt. Angela groans, rubs her own clit, free hand gripping the table edge. Mia comes again, mess dripping down her thighs straight into the doctor's waiting mouth. They crash together, legs locked, slick pussies sliding, grinding, slippery and relentless. Each thrust sends shocks through oversensitive flesh. Hips slap. Sweat beads. Their cunts pulse, squeeze, slick joins slick until both women explode—raw, loud, shaking through aftershocks. Angela stays between Mia's legs, licking her through every last twitch. The most hands-on treatment in town.